


The Cutting Room Floor

by Madchen



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Dying words, Military, Multi, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Pre-Relationship, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madchen/pseuds/Madchen
Summary: "Each one of these films show a reality like ours but not ours. Well, you learn an awful lot watching these films. Some of us are just the same... rotten or kind in one reality, rotten or kind in the next, but most people are different, depending on whether they have food in their belly or they're hungry, safe or scared."Just a few snippets of what *might* be found on the floor of Abendsen's High Castle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helen and John pre-relationship.

     It was dark and cold, but John Smith supposed it was lucky that at least it wasn’t raining as well. His uniform kept him warm, but not waterproof, and this looked to be a long night. The sky was mercifully clear, ice beginning to skate across the few puddles on the pavement. His route was long but quiet; the car alone on the roads, but he kept his wits about him, looking for any movement that would give away any interlopers.

      He sighed as he spotted movement - someone climbing a chainlink fence at the end of an alleyway just off Main Street. Stopping the car and ensuring the handbrake was on, he clung to the shadows, watching the person swing their leg over the top, their shoe falling off. Hearing them curse, he was surprised to hear a woman’s voice.

      Waiting till she was nearly at the ground, he approached her, summoning up the full weight of his authority before announcing himself.

          “Good evening, madam. May I see your ID card please?” She didn’t jump, though she looked a little surprised to see him.

          “Of course you can, Captain.” As she reached inside her coat, he retrieved her missing shoe, an elegant though well-worn court heel, and held it in his hands, almost like a hostage. With a smile of cherry lips, his heart skipped a beat. It looked as if the war hadn’t touched her, fresh skin, bright eyes and supple, strong figure.

           “Miss, you know the rules.” He cast an eye over her documentations before handing it back. “Curfew starts at 8 for all civilians.” He tried to look severe, but as she took the ID back, he could see she was unconvinced. “I’m going to have to take you in.”

           “I lost track of time.” She spoke with a casual swish of her long red hair, a flicker of defiance dancing in her eyes. “Surely there’s no need - ”

           “Its almost 9. The rules are in place for your protection, ma’am.”

            “A girl’s got to make a living.” She said lightly, before tipping her head to the side. “Can I have my shoe back?”

      He considered her for a moment, weighing up her words, trying to find the truth in them. There was more to the story, he sensed, that much he knew. She was too well dressed for a hooker, she lacked the gaunt, unhealthy sheen of someone who worked long nocturnal hours.

            “Why are you out so late?” He asked quietly, giving her a reproachful look. He’d give her one chance to tell the truth, before taking her in. She looked a little startled, and then she seemed to deflate, eyes looking down.

            “I work the Department of Food Requistion and Distribution. One of the women left early, her son arrived back from the campaign in Africa, but he’s sick with Yellow Fever, so she had to tend to him.” She said quietly. “We will lose our jobs if we don’t make the weekly quotas, so I stayed late to cover her.” Her eyes looked up and down his uniform. “I won’t let it happen again. I take my job seriously – but we’re meant to be a community that takes care of each other. I thought if I took the back way and was careful – but never mind. Take me in if you’re going to.”

     John thought for a moment; it was a plausible story. If he called in to verify, though, she would lose her job anyway. If he took her in, she would lose the job. He sighed; what sort of man would be be if he punished a civilian for working to help the recovery effort? John handed her the shoe he still held, and she accepted it.

          “Come with me; I’ll escort you back to your house, and I won’t catch you breaking curfew again, understood?” He said, not too severely. “Let’s get you home, Miss Helen Jones.”

          “Sure thing. I appreciate it, sir.” She slipped the shoe back on and walked after him, easily able to keep up with his pace. “Do you have a name?”

          “John. John Smith.” He opened the car door for her, holding his hand to help her in.

          “Pleased to meet you.” She smiled at his touch, and he felt his stomach go weak.

 


	2. Asphyxiate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connelly discovers just what it means to serve Heydrich

     When he had been ordered to kneel before Heydrich, he had done so without question; this was not America, and some of the more ritualistic elements of SS protocol were beyond his understanding. Still, he had anticipated some sort of test of loyalty, perhaps being made to kiss his Ehren-ring; but as his eyes hovered around the Oberstgruppenführer’s middrift, it dawned on him that he was about to subjected to something far more sinister. This thought came too late to do him any good.

          “You understand what it is that I am asking of you, Captain Connelly?”

     The hands had begun by loosening the tie, almost gently undoing the top button of his shirt before brushing the sensitive skin of his throat. He swallowed nervously, his eyes never leaving the cold blue gaze of his superior officer. Little had changed in them; perhaps they had narrowed in concentration. This was not unusual for him, Connelly realised, and this was not uncommon. The thought gave him no comfort.

          “Yes, sir.” He fought to keep the quaver out of his voice. He was already on his knees, but he did not wish to seem any weaker than he needed to.

          “It is a simple infiltration.” One hand languidly stroked down his cheek, before joining the other in encircling his throat and tightening. Suddenly he found it difficult to draw breath; still, he did not look away. The Oberstgruppenfuhrur’s face had tightened in focus, but otherwise displayed no emotion. No wonder people were intimidated by this man, the Butcher of Prague, if this is what he considered to be loyalty….

          “Yes.” He gasped aloud, afraid of not replying. He blinked away the tears that were gathering in his eyes from the pain, determined not to be further unmanned.

          “No heroics.” Heydrich’s pulse did not rise, seemingly putting no effort into squeezing the life out of his underling, his lips parting into a gentle sneer, upper lip curling. “No initiative. Follow your orders to the letter.”

          “Yes, Oberstgruppenführer.” He began to see spots in his vision, the hands tightening one final time so that he felt the nails digging into his flesh. His head was growing light and still he did not take his eyes from his superior officer. His hands uselessly, automatically clawed at those at his throat, desperate for one gasp of air as he felt himself be lifted from his position. He had been drawn closer to Heydrich’s face, an expression he was afraid to name upon the Oberstgruppenführer’s face.

          “Wait until you receive orders to the contrary. Do not reveal yourself under any circumstance. Do you understand?”

     He nodded, feeling his consciousness slipping away, but still too scared no to reply. This seemed to placate Heydrich, who allowed him a small smile before letting go. Upon being released, the first thing he did was draw a loud, shuddering breath, his hand flying to his throat to check it was intact, wheezing as he filled himself with air, heart pounding, blood running cold. He delicately touched the flesh there, wondering how long it would take to bloom into a bruise.

          “Consider one thing, Captain: If this is how I treat those who are loyal to me, consider how I treat those who are not.” Heydrich seemed to watch him, on his hands and knees, grasping at every intake of breath, before walking away, one hand pulling a glove onto the other, an almost lazy gesture. He stopped when he reached the door, and turned on his heel. “Do not disappoint me.”

          “Yes, sir.” He responded, unable to take his eyes from the floor. Connelly waited until he was alone, shakily getting to his feet and wondering what exactly he had gotten involved in and whether he would make it out alive.

 


	3. The Last Thing On My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erich's thoughts as he bleeds

     There was something in the pit of his stomach that morning, an unwelcome unfurling within him that makes him feel unsettled. A feeling of uncertainty that had made him strangely nervous.  There was nothing unusual about the day, nothing in the diary that would concern him or anything during the rest of the week. It was just a feeling of something impending, overdue. Nevertheless, Erich Raeder had gotten into the staff car to meet the Obergruppenführer and begin their day, but still the unknowable weight remained, making him uneasy.

     It was in the crease of his forehead that gave away his worries, as well as his unguarded words with John Smith about the film reels, words he would usually treasure and pour over for days, reading into their meaning, but were concealed as he fretted over this uncharacteristic emotion. His Obergruppenführer, who inspired him, faded into the background as he struggled to remember what it was he had forgotten, what it was that was plaguing him.

     Erich was a practical man, proud of his background and his career, and did not consider himself a believer in superstition or sixth senses. And yet John’s sixth sense had so often been proven to be unnaturally accurate, he was beginning to reconsider his own opinion on the matter.

     He had considered it long enough when the bullets flew through the windscreen and tore through him, his uniform darkened with blood, welling up in his mouth, choking his breaths. His eyes fix on John and he tries to say something, anything that would demonstrate how much this man means to him. In these previous moments, perhaps his last, he has nothing left to lose.

     But he can’t – the words don’t come, and as soon as the bullets cease, the man beside him has gone, seeking safety elsewhere.  He feels devoid, all of a sudden, the last thing he had lost. As if in slow motion, the gun battle continues around him, and as his eyes close, its as if he can count the bullets from John’s gun, eins, zwei, drei, knowing that soon they will run out. Excellent marksman or not, without bullets, his master is dead.

     Reaching for his holster, Erich hoped he had enough blood left in him to withdraw the pistol and hand it to John, his life for this mans, the most valuable gift he could give to someone he had grown to care for far more than he should. As he felt his body grow faint, strong fingers pulled the gun from his hand, a concerned look on John’s face the last thing he sees before he passes out, his final thought dwelling on the one he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> A short piece written for viceindustrious as part of a ficswap. 
> 
> Still waiting for mine, by the way ; )


End file.
